His Spitfire
by DramioneInLove
Summary: He was her Master, and she would remain his love, his angel, his Spitfire, even when unwanted, even into Death. Rarepair shorts Winter Exchange submission on LJ. Blaise/Ginny. OS.


**Title**: His Spitfire

**Pairing**: Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley

**Rating**: NC-17

**Author**: DramioneInLove

**Beta**: hp-beta

**Word count**: ard. 2,200

**Summary**: He was her Master, and she would remain his love, his angel, his Spitfire, even when unwanted, even into Death.

**Warnings**: Main Character Death, Dub-Con, Forced Orgasm, Wartime Fic, Master/Slave, Mild Violence, Profanity, Forced Relationship, Memory Loss due to Magical Object, Forced Behavior

**Author's note**: This is my assignment for the hp_rarepair Winter fest and it is written for redcandle17 upon her prompting. Hope you like it! I certainly enjoyed writing it.

...

He wouldn't let her go. Even in death, he had managed to remain her Master.

The Weasley family, along with Harry, Hermione, and a few friends, stood around Ginevra Molly Weasley's grave, prettily spattered with flowers, sitting beside Fred's. No one knew what had happened really. Ginny had been branded a traitor, a Death Eater's lover, committing suicide to join her beloved in the after.

If only they knew.

.

_Two Years Before_

.

Ginny stood trembling, with anger as much as fear, in front of the young Death Eater. She recognized Blaise Zabini from school, just gifted with Potter's blood traitor girlfriend by Lord Voldemort himself, as a war prize and a thanking for capturing her and a few others.

Blaise clucked his tongue, dark skin glistening under the candle chandelier, as he gazed at her, almost gently twisting a tendril of her flame colored hair between his fingers.

"Spitfire," he drawled mockingly. "Mind if I call you that? Rolls nicely on my tongue, don't you think?"

Ginny glared bravely at him, fists balling in her shackles, and snapped nervously back,

"In fact, Zabini, I _do_ mind."

"As if I care," he sniggered, "_Spitfire_."

He stepped back and served himself a glass of wine, turning his back to the girl.

"You are my slave now," he said. "You shall obey my every command. When I tell you to serve me, you will. When I tell you to shut up, you shall. When I tell you to lie on the bed and spread your legs so that I can fuck your gorgeous body, you'll do so."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and pouted.

"If you really think so, Zabini, you have another thing coming. War prisoner and slave I may be, but I shall never obey your orders willingly."

"Who said you are going to do it _willingly_, Spitfire?" he chuckled, amused.

He walked to a cupboard in the corner of his luxurious bedroom, and presented a beautiful necklace, in silver, spotted with emeralds. He dangled it carelessly under her nose.

"This, my beauty, is a Slave Collar. When I snap it around your neck, you shall obey everything I say. No one but me can take it off. Let's give it a try, dear."

She tried to back away, but he seized her firmly by the hair and dragged her back to him, ignoring her horrified snarling and howling, and put the collar on.

Instantly, she felt calm, soothed. He let her go, and she simply stood. It was a nice feeling, as if she had nothing to worry about anymore. Blaise, her Master, would simply look after her. Her only need was to please him.

He approached, and said,

"Let's try this device, Spitfire. Go and lie down on the bed."

"Yes, Master," she murmured happily before complying.

A small voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to stop, wake up, defend herself, but she was so tired, and she knew that Blaise was her Master, so why disobey? Not that she could if she wanted, anyway.

Blaise smirked in delight and came close to the bed.

"My beautiful Spitfire," he purred whilst caressing her bare thigh. She had been presented in a short slave dress, grey and unappealing, but revealing enough flesh to content him. "Do you mind if I call you Spitfire?"

"My Master holds the right to call me as he wishes," she whispered, looking at him with confident eyes.

He nodded and ordered,

"Undress."

She sat up eagerly, and swiftly stripped down to her bra and knickers, plain white.

"I shall cover you in presents," he muttered while his hands roamed all over her body, causing her to shiver in delight and arch up to his touch. "Do you know since how long I have wanted you, beloved?"

He stripped in turn, quickly, and deftly jumped upon the bed, bending down to kiss her. She returned the kiss, mewling as he nudged her thighs apart and took off her underwear. One large, calloused hand slithered over her bare nipples, and pinched them, whereas the other descended to her crotch. He thumbed her clit, making her cry out, before pushing softly a finger into her wetness, joined by another. Her reactions delighted him. She was just as he knew she would be: sensitive, filled with passion, receptive, and wanton. And what did he care if the woman didn't really want this, somewhere in the back of her mind?

He finally thrust in, smothering her with kisses and his touch, and brought them both over the edge.

.

Ginny had lost notion of time.

She was enclosed in the small but beautiful Zabini Manor since what probably was months. Blaise used to leave all day, sometimes several days in a row, to accomplish missions for the Dark Lord, and would come back in the nights. She would spend her days reading in the library, strolling in the wonderful gardens, or ride the broom he offered her, only above the Zabini grounds. In the nights, she would run to her Master's feet and they would fuck, sometimes tender and loving, often hard and demanding. Blaise covered her in presents, worshipped her, and made sure that the elves and other ten or so slaves of the house would treat her as if she was the lady of the Manor herself.

Ginny was quite content, though she often felt, when her Master left, that something was missing. Sometimes, she fingered the necklace absentmindedly. She didn't seem to remember much of her life before Blaise. She knew she had been to Hogwarts, and that a war was happening, and that Blaise was, as he said, a hero of the war, fighting because evil people wanted to take her from him. She knew she didn't like her Master, deep down, but the desire to please was too grand. She couldn't fight. But she took his words for granted: no one must take her away. They were evil.

She remembered from time to time, especially when the Master was away or when she was asleep, loving faces with red hair like herself, or two girls, one a dreamy blond and the other bushy-headed, and one handsome man with emerald eyes and raven hair who seemed to love her so. Who were they?

She didn't know, and something, maybe instinct, told her to not tell Blaise about her thoughts.

.

Ginny weaved through the guests and plopped down on Blaise's lap, and he handfed her a few grapes. She smiled towards Draco and Theo, her Master's friends. Draco was talking, but stopped upon her approach.

"Don't worry about Spitfire," Blaise noted, fingering her collar.

Draco shot him a knowing look and continued,

"Potter and his two friends were spotted in the area of London. Snatchers almost arrested them, but Granger..."

His voice trailed off to Ginny as her mind started full force. She knew those names. Where from...?

Potter. Granger. Potter.

_Harry_.

Harry and _Hermione_.

Harry, Hermione and _Ronald, her brother_.

Blaise must have sensed something, as he shot her a sharp look and asked,

"Something up, love?"

She felt compelled to answer the truth, but as the smiling face of a raven-haired man appeared to her and her mind recognized him, _Harry_, she found the strength to reply,

"No, Master. A little tired."

Blaise helped her up, worried:

"Off to bed, Spitfire."

She obeyed, but in the darkness of their bedroom, she thought of what she discovered, as other names came back.

Luna. Neville. Dumbledore.

Her memories were back, her mind remembered that they were her friends, not the evil, but she knew that anyway, the collar would not permit her to disobey her Master yet.

She needed time to fight its influence.

.

Blaise slumped down next to her sweating body and kissed her lips before saying words that she hated and would never want to hear from the bastard.

"I love you, my Spitfire."

She shivered and replied in a hoarse voice, exceptionnally fighting the collar in a survival defense,

"I love you too, Master."

.

Blaise's wild face appeared in the hall, and Ginny paused in shock. She was coming down the stairs and it was mid-afternoon. _Why_ was he here?

Draco, Theo and a few fellow Death Eaters were following, blood on their robes, and spread out in the house.

"Do not forget to take the papers in the office," brawled Blaise to his friends in crime while leaping up the stairs to Ginny. He grabbed her wrist, hurting her, and pulled her to their bedroom.

"Master," she gurgled in panick. "Stop, what's going on? _Master_?"

He slammed the door and grasped her shoulders, staring at her, obviously furious and worried.

"The final battle has come, Spitfire," he said in hurry. "I must fight to protect us."

Her heart jumped in fear for her friends. He continued in a rush,

"I love you. I will not let you go. If I die, love, a red burn shall appear on your left wrist. If that happens, Spitfire, Ginny, _you shall kill yourself_, understood?"

She gazed in shock. His eyes were those of a mad man, long lost over the brink of sanity.

"What? Master!"

"They will not take you from me," he growled. "No! You belong to me! We would be happy together, even in death! Death is better than falling in their hands! I will not let Potter claim you! It is an order, Spitfire: if. I. Die. You will kill yourself, and we shall be happy in the after!"

"Please, no..."

"Be quiet," he snarled.

The collar compelled her to shut up and she did, lamely standing, tears running down her cheeks as he kissed her.

"Goodbye, my Spitfire," he whispered before running out of the room.

.

Her hands scrabbled at the hated necklace, not caring as her nails cut through the skin of her neck, but it wouldn't budge. She now managed to fight little orders, but not enough. Not enough to save herself if her cursed Master died...

.

Ginny's left hand started burning. She watched in horror as a red mark started to appear, tears spilling down her cheeks. Blaise was dead, thank Merlin.

But she was too.

Her feet took her slowly, surely, to the North Tower, seven floors high. She screamed and horrified slaves and elves tried to hold her back, but her arm broke as her body continued moving, freeing her of their grip. She still tried throwing herself to the floor, but couldn't. The walk was slow, terrifying, and morbid. Her screams of terror and horror echoed around the Manor, and she stepped out to the open.

Sun was setting in the far. Snow was coating the grounds, in a mock cushioning to her fall. Her feet took her to the edge. She felt her compelled body stand up on top of the stone wall. Her arms spread, her long, red hair, that had earned her the name of Spitfire along with her fiery personality, thrust around her face with the wind, her white dress billowing about her luscious body, she pushed one last cry, so loud that beasts in the surrounding forest dashed away, and dropped forward.

.

He had claimed in a letter that they were in love and would stay forever together.

Most people took that for granted and Ginny was branded in shame, not caring to look for the truth in the world after the war.

Her family and friends knew better, though.

Harry Potter rubbed his glasses. Ginny, dead at the age of eighteen, so pretty, so...

"Do you think she thought of us before she died?"

Harry turned to Hermione, sad light sparking in his eyes.

"Her heart did. Her brain and body though, were under the sick spell Zabini cast or whatever he did. She loved life to much to die by her own will, even for a man. Especially for _that_ man."

They stood in silence, as Molly's heartbreaking cries kept them in a bubble of suffering.

He was her Master. She was his Spitfire. And he would never let her go.

Even as the family left the grave, slowly starting to walk the long road of forget, a tiny petal fell from a nearby tree, flowering by magic eternally over Fred and Ginny's last beds. The petal caressed softly the gravestone, like a lover's hand, and floated to sit on the ground over her body.

The petal was velvety, as a reminder of her unwanted lover, and red, like fire.

Like spitfire.

His Spitfire.

FIN.


End file.
